It was about to break up, for day was dawning, and cheeks growing pale. Less than a month after mid-summer, the hour was not so much into morning, and there were some tireless votaries of Terpsichore inclined for still another contredanse, by way of wind up. This came, however, in a manner more sudden and unexpected. First, the call notes of a distant bugle, taken up and responded to by others, till a very chorus of them sounded all over the city. Then a tantara of drums, and the jangling of church bells, with the boom of a great gun from the Castle!
Too early for the reveillée—before the hour of orisons—what could it all mean? So queried they in the grounds of Montserrat House, gathering into groups. Certainly, something unusual; as the fracas not only continued but seemed growing greater. To the instrumental sounds were added human voices, shouting in the streets, calls and responses, with a hurried trampling of feet—men rushing to and fro!
Only for a short while were Madame Lalande’s guests in suspense. Nor had they to go outside for explanation. There was an eminence in the grounds which commanded a view of most part of Bristol, with the country beyond the fortified line, south-eastward. On its summit stood a pavilion; the same which on that night had been the means of revealing more than one secret. And now from this spot an anxious crowd—for scores had rushed up to it—learnt the cause of the excitement. Close in to the city’s walls, about to enter one of the gates, was the shattered remnant of Hesselrig’s Horse—all that was left of Waller’s defeated army!
If the dresses of those who clustered round the pavilion—most in fancy costume—were diversified, varied also were the feelings with which they regarded this new spectacle presented to them. A surprise to all; to many an unpleasant one, but most viewing it with delighted eyes. For, unlike as with the crowds clustering other eminences outside, within that precinct, hitherto almost sacred to Cavalierism, this was, of course, in the ascendant. And what they saw seemed sure evidence of a crushing defeat having been sustained by their adversaries; so sure, that many who had all the night behaved modestly, and worn masks, now pulled them off and began to swagger in true Cavalier fashion.
Sir Richard Walwyn, Eustace Trevor, and other Parliamentarian officers present were compelled to listen to observations sufficiently offensive. Had they been themselves unmannerly, or even without it, they could have stopped all that, being still masters in Bristol. But there was no need for their showing spite by taking the initiative; as this was forced upon them, whether or no, by command and the simple performance of duty. While Madame Lalande’s guests were hastening to take their departure, a man, newly arrived, made appearance in their midst; an officer, wearing sabretasche and other insignia of an aide-de-camp. Entering unannounced at the outer gate, without ceremony he strode on up to the house, inquiring for Sir Richard Walwyn.
“Here!” responded the knight, himself about to leave the place; and he stepped forth to meet the new comer.
“From the Governor, Colonel Walwyn,” said the aide-de-camp, saluting, and drawing a slip of folded paper from his sabretasche, which he handed to the Colonel of Horse, adding, “In all haste.”
Tearing it open, Sir Richard read:—
“Re-arrest all prisoners on parole, whether soldiers or civilians. Search the city through, and send them, under guard to the Castle.
“Fiennes.
“To the Colonel Walwyn.”
“Here’s a revanche for us, Trevor,” said the knight, communicating the contents of the despatch to his young troop captain, “if we are ill-natured enough to care for such. Anyhow, we’ll stop the speech of some of those fellows who’ve been making themselves so free of it. Haste down to quarters, and bring Sergeant Wilde with half a dozen files. We may as well begin our work here. Why, bless me! there’s the man himself, and the soldiers, too!”